


Sleeping Arrangements

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Series: If Tomorrow Never Comes [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Rumbelle - Fandom
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, A Monthly Rumbelling October 2018, Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anti Evil Queen, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Gold Family, Hurt/Comfort, Rumbelle - Freeform, Sharing a Bed, references to nursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 18:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16540118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: When Belle and baby Gideon come home from the hospital with Rumplestiltskin, he sets Belle and himself up in different bedrooms. Neither wants to sleep apart, but neither wants to say so.2019 TEA WINNER - FLUFF/COMFORT





	Sleeping Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Follow-up to If Tomorrow Never Comes aka what would have happened if Belle and Rumple gave birth to Gideon together and all went home together.
> 
> Written for the October AMR: “This can’t keep happening,” but I’m late. Thanks to maplesyrup for looking over this for me.

“You have everything you need in here?” Rumplestiltskin asked, pushing past the lump in his throat.

Belle stopped her careful appraisal of the guest bedroom, a generous smile curving her lips as she turned around. He hovered in the doorway, helpless to do anything but lean against the molding and stare. If he dared to let go of the doorframe, he would fall on his face at her feet.

Gods, she was beautiful. He’d admired her as his maid, loved her as his girlfriend, and adored her as his wife. Now that she was the mother of his son, his feelings for her had only deepened. Life seemed more real somehow, and infinitely more precious. It wasn’t just the two of them anymore.

Three-day-old Gideon was tucked into the crook of her left arm, cradled with the tender precision of a brand-new mother: firm because she was afraid of dropping him; ginger because she was afraid of breaking him. Nothing rivaled the nervousness and joy of holding your own child, but as much as he relished caring for Gideon, seeing Belle and their son together was its own miracle.

“Everything I need?” She giggled, then spun around the room slowly once more, careful not to jar their son. “Are you kidding? It’s like staying at a five-star hotel.” She shifted the baby onto her shoulder and peered at the bed fitted with his best silk sheets and the freshly washed and pressed duvet. “Rumple, are those chocolates on the pillow?”

He colored, wondering if he’d gone overboard in his desperation to make her feel welcome, and deflected the question with a sheepish smile. “Hopefully the food here is better than what they served in the maternity ward.”

At lunchtime this afternoon, while he had rocked Gideon as Belle rested, a hospital orderly had delivered a tray bearing a suspicious-looking hunk of meat covered in gray sauce accompanied by limp broccoli. He’d wrinkled his nose at the meal and gone to the nurses’ station, demanding they process Belle’s discharge papers posthaste. There would be no more nondescript, lukewarm blue plate specials on his watch.

“Dinner was fantastic.” She patted her full stomach with a contented sigh. “But you’ve been at the hospital with us day and night. When did you have the time to make seafood stew?”

Thanks to Dove, his personal assistant, the rich, hearty scents of shellfish, vegetables, and saffron had perfumed the house when they’d stumbled into the house carrying Gideon and a case of diapers as wide as the front door. “I had some help,” he admitted. “Dove is actually quite a cook.”

“I never would have guessed,” she murmured, smiling even through her exhaustion.

It was still early evening, but dark shadows stood out beneath her eyes, pronounced against her ivory skin. Between Gideon’s round-the-clock needs, the wails of other babies being born, and the revolving door of hospital staff poking and prodding her at all hours, Belle hadn’t slept much in the hospital.

He gave the room one last critical assessment and nodded in satisfaction. Bottled water and a sparkling, crystal glass sat on the nightstand, all of Belle’s clothes were folded and placed in bureau drawers or hanging in the closet, and in the kitchen, her favorite foods lined the pantry and refrigerator shelves. The overnight bag from the hospital had already been emptied and stashed in the closet.

His chest felt hollow, and he took a slow, deep breath, an attempt to fill that empty, inside-out space. He was grateful beyond words to have Belle home, but seeing her in the guest bedroom--a space she had decorated herself in shades of royal blue and gold during the early, tender days of their marriage--was bittersweet.

On the evening they’d spoken their wedding vows at the well, life had been bright and new, filled with possibility. Yet the shadow of Baelfire’s death and his gruesome months in captivity stood between them like an impenetrable iron wall. He couldn’t stop blaming himself for his endless parade of transgressions, and Belle couldn’t stop ignoring their problems and trying to make the best of things.

Their rushed engagement amid lies about the dagger had been no way to enter a marriage. One hasty reconciliation, whirlwind trip to the Underworld, wild goose chase in New York City, abbreviated pregnancy, and new baby later, they’d agreed to put the past behind them. It was time to make a fresh start for the sake of their son.

At best, he had hoped for a relaxed visitation schedule and the occasional overnight with Gideon. Belle’s desire to make a home here again was a dream come true. But he wasn’t fooling himself. Everything Belle was sacrificing by moving here was for Gideon, not for him.

As with all major decisions he made, he’d given careful consideration to offering her the second-best bedroom in the house. Rather than stammer and stumble his way through excuses and empty the room they had once shared, he’d opted to outfit the largest guest suite with the most luxurious appointments money could buy in the shortest amount of time possible. Dove had arranged for a hand-painted bureau with a secret compartment, an antique Aubusson carpet in plush blues and soft creams, cozy bookshelves, and a king-size bed to be delivered and ready for Belle when she arrived.

He would have gladly turned over the master suite if not for his paranoia. Sleeping arrangements. They had a way of turning the most benign circumstances into an awkward mess, and this situation was highly unusual. The idea of living under the same roof with Belle and not sharing a bed was already driving him mad. He didn’t expect to make love to her, not when he’d just watched her deliver their son, but he ached to hold her close.

He didn’t sleep much. An unfortunate side-effect of being the Dark One was an exhaustive supply of nervous energy. When he and Belle had been together, crawling into bed and resting in her arms had calmed the storm inside him. She’d given his nights a purpose and made him feel almost human.

But no matter how much he missed lying next to her, sharing his bed was the last thing Belle would want.

Growing restless, Gideon squirmed, whinnying like a foal. Gold opened his arms and Belle handed him their son with a grateful sigh. They might not be compatible as husband and wife anymore, but they were fast becoming adept at co-parenting, seeming to know by instinct when the other person needed help or relief.

The accidental bump of her shoulder against his made his insides puddle, and he focused on the tiny vertical lines above their son’s nose. Rumplestiltskin didn’t know if he would ever grow accustomed to Belle’s touch. Since the day their lives collided in her father’s castle, it took nothing more than the brush of fingertips, a tender look, or a hot cup of tea from this woman to render him a fumbling, babbling disaster.

Fears of Morpheus’s prophecy that he would destroy the two people in the world who meant the most festered like an open sore. What if it was all true? What if he did the wrong thing again? What if he’d broken things so badly they could no longer be fixed? His family wasn’t a chipped cup he could piece together with glue and promises.

No, he wouldn’t succumb to his own negative self-talk. Belle had taken the first step in asking to come home with him. It was up to him to take the next. He took another deep breath and plodded ahead.

“Belle, before we settle in for the night, would you like to see the nursery?”

* * *

_Three weeks later_

Her stomach growling with hunger, Belle splashed her face with cool water. While she patted her puffy, red face with a soft towel, she glanced at Gideon, gurgling in his bouncy seat on the bathroom floor.

He was too little to play with the toys dangling above his just head yet, but he could enjoy the soothing sounds and lights of the toy rainforest and the plastic monkey’s goofy smile. All that really mattered now was the seat held his attention long enough for her to wash her face and make herself presentable.

Gideon looked up at her with wide, trusting eyes, the irises already several shades darker than when he’d been born almost one month ago. Mother’s instinct told her their son would inherit the amber-flecked brown eyes of his father, and she was both glad and afraid. Rumple had intelligent, beautiful eyes capable of penetrating the flesh and piercing a person’s soul. When he looked at her, Belle always had the sense there was nothing he couldn’t see. Every part of her being was laid bare for him. A shiver of awareness coursed through her, and she covered her face with the damp towel again before Gideon could sense what a foolish mess his mother was.

 _Stop being an idiot, Belle_ , she scolded herself. _He’s a baby._

She scooped Gideon up and trudged down the stairs toward the kitchen dressed in sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, a smile plastered to her face. The aromas of bacon, toast, and coffee were trailing up the staircase, and a fresh wave of tears stung her eyes. Rumple was so thoughtful. She paused at the bottom of the stairs to wipe her red-rimmed eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Bloody stupid tears!  

Last night, she’d cried until she fell asleep for the fifth night in as many days, pressing her face into the pillow to muffle the sobs. She didn’t want to wake Gideon and worry Rumple. If he suspected something was wrong, he would be across the hall in a flash, and he wouldn’t rest until she blubbered out all her worries and went back to sleep. There were plenty of problems to blame the tears on—a reduced milk supply thanks to her accelerated pregnancy, hormone spikes, the exhaustion of waking up every two hours to feed and change an infant.  

But none of those things truly bothered her. What kept her awake and crying into the designer sheets were the sleeping arrangements. More than anything, she wanted to share a bed with her husband again. There was such comfort in his presence, strong, warm, and reassuring in the bed beside her. She missed his kisses and the steadiness of his arms around her, his breath on her face, faintly minty from toothpaste and magic, his dark eyes glittering with amusement while they shared stories about their day until Belle was too drowsy to talk anymore. While they were married he never went to sleep before her, always waiting until she had drifted off to take his own rest or to sneak downstairs to work or spin.

What right did she have to complain, though? He’d outfitted the guest suite like she was royalty and waited on her like she had broken both her arms. And Gideon’s nursery! Decorated in grey and gold and with the same crib Snow and David had chosen for Emma back in the Enchanted Forest, it was a room fit for a prince. It pained her to tell Rumple she preferred to keep their son next to the bed in a bassinet until he was old enough to sleep through the night without needing to nurse or take a bottle.

Nonplussed, Rumple had immediately gone online and ordered the most luxurious bedside baby cradle he could find.

His determination to do everything was worrying her. Since she’d come home, he’d spent day and night working himself into a shadow. He prepared hearty, delicious meals and hovered until she cleared her plate, brought Gideon to her when she was able to nurse, and gave him a bottle when she couldn’t. Always willing to rock or walk Gideon, he would leave her to read or nap. She wasn’t angling to be alone, though. She wanted her husband. “The Dark One doesn’t need sleep,” he would say, clicking his tongue whenever she protested or tried to share the workload.

She was feeling pampered, spoiled, and pissed off.

But Rumple was another story. Never had she seen him so content. Even from here in the front hallway, she could hear him in the kitchen, rattling pans and humming an off-key tune while he flipped eggs in a skillet. Every request and every need—whether it came from her or Gideon—brought a delighted smile to his face. Their too-brief time with Neal had shown her Rumple was an excellent father, but caring for a baby was balm for his battered spirit. Maybe it was silly but in a way, Gideon’s arrival made her feel like Neal was with them again.

So what if her heart fluttered whenever her husband entered the room or the sound of him reciting poetry to the baby made her breath quicken? His interest in her didn’t stretch beyond her position as the mother of his child. He wanted Gideon in his life, and she was lucky enough to be along for the ride.  

No, she refused to let Rumple see her selfishness. All telling the truth would lead to was heartache. And they had suffered more than enough pain for ten lifetimes.

Her eyes dry and her smile in place, she marched into the kitchen with their son in tow.

* * *

_One week later_

Belle awoke from a sound sleep to the sound of pitiful wails. Groggy, she blinked, trying to figure out who was crying and why. Before she gained enough awareness to turn toward the cradle sitting eighteen inches from the bed, a shape was filling the doorway, backlit by the nightlight in the hallway.

“Belle,” Rumple whispered, his slippered feet shuffling across her bedroom carpet. “Are you alright, sweetheart? What do you need?”

She jolted up in bed and rubbed her eyes, knocking her pillows to the floor. He had to stop waking up during the night and crossing the hall this way. It was madness. “This can’t keep happening,” she blurted, groping for the switch on the bedside lamp.

Between the foot of her bed and the cradle, Rumple froze, suspended in time while Gideon’s cries rose in volume and urgency. A muscle ticked in his jaw and he blanched, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Of course. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” His voice was wooden, remote; like it belonged to a stranger.

“Wait, Rumple-”

Her stomach plummeted into her knees. She hadn’t meant the words they way they sounded, but before she could explain, he was out of her room and halfway across the hall. She scrambled out of bed to chase after him, reaching out to snag the tie on the back of his dressing gown as he crossed into the master suite. She yanked him into the hallway, his back colliding with her chest. He teetered on the balls of his feet and she slipped her arms around his waist and held on.

She was breathing like she’d run a marathon, her heart squeezing inside her chest until she thought it would crumble into dust. Gods, she had tried! She had tried to make it seem like sleeping in the guest room without him while he stayed across the hall didn't bother her and she'd gotten good at pretending she was fine. But she wasn't.

Nothing about this arrangement was even remotely fine.

Last week, she had brushed an imaginary fuzzy out of his cropped hair for the sheer pleasure of feeling its softness between her fingers. Since he’d cut off his shaggy brown locks, she had no more excuses to push wayward strands behind his ears. Yesterday, there had been an eyelash on her cheek, and she’d held her breath in anticipation while he cupped her jaw and swept it away, the spicy scent of the lasagna he baked for dinner still lingering on his fingers.

Inventing excuses to be near him or relying on accidental touches was more than she could bear. She would rather live somewhere else than be under the same roof with him and be treated like his maiden aunt or long-lost sister or even worse, the pathetic charity case he had once loved.

He stiffened in her grasp, and she tightened her arms around his waist, determined to hold onto him no matter what. His torso was leaner than her hands remembered, wiry from worry.

Their son continued to cry, his lungs rivaling the Storybrooke High School’s marching band. Her milk started letting down, wetting the front of her nightgown and probably soaking into the back of Rumple’s nightshirt, but nursing Gideon would have to wait. She needed to clear the air.

Maybe she had turned into a bloated, unreliable milk machine, but she was human and Rumple was a handsome man. She wasn’t the only one who found him attractive, either, she thought miserably. There had been others, most recently the Evil Queen, a woman who differed from her in every way imaginable. That harpy had chased him like a bitch in heat and Zelena couldn’t wait to tell her about it.

But she was here now, and Rumple was still wearing his wedding ring. He was _her_ husband and she was going to fight for him.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she clarified, murmuring against his shoulder. “I meant you getting up during the night and coming across the hall to get Gideon.”

He slipped out of her arms and turned to face her in the dim hallway. The only light came from a small lamp at the end of the corridor, but it was enough to see the wariness in his eyes. “I understood you the first time, Belle.”

“No.” She tilted her head, trying to read his face in the dark. “I don’t think you understand me at all.” She twisted her fingers together. This agonized, consuming jealousy was utterly wretched. “Is it because of her? The Evil Queen. Do-do you miss her?”

“Gods, no!” His face was haggard, regret etched into the lines around his mouth. “I told you in the hospital there was nothing. _She_ was nothing. It was a business arrangement, and I let her believe what she wanted. And after what she did to us...to you…” His voice hardened. “She’s lucky she’s not dead.”

Belle shuddered. She didn’t want anyone to die because of her, but she’d be happy not to see that despicable woman ever again for the rest of her days. And she certainly didn’t want Regina’s evil twin running her blood-red fingernails all over her husband.

“Listen.” She touched her finger to his lips finding them soft and dry. She shivered, wanting nothing more than to close the distance between them and kiss him senseless.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s the sound of nothing.” She cocked her head and savored the blissful silence. “Gideon stopped crying all on his own.”

Rumple shoved his hands in the pockets of his robe with a wry smile and stepped back. “Perhaps he didn’t need me after all.”

Belle recognized that look--he was trying to shut her out. Well, she wasn’t going to allow it this time. She moved closer to him, stepping into his space and smoothing her hands down his shoulders. “Not for the moment, no. But he does need you. And so do I. Not what you can do for me—not how well you cook or entertain Gideon or order Dove to redecorate. Just you. Your presence. The sound of your voice. Your arms around me.”

Admitting she missed him, saying the words out loud, made her feel free. It was okay to admit she needed him. She craved his touches, his kisses, the way he used to look at her like she made a difference in his world. All her life, people had admired her beauty, but Rumple was the only person who ever made her feel beautiful.

“What about you, Rumple?” she asked. “What do you need?”

* * *

The next thing he knew, she was leading him by the hand back into her bedroom. Confused, he stumbled along behind her like a drowsy child. “Where are we going? I don’t understand.”

She had the audacity to grin at him, her teeth flashing in the low light. “We’ve established that,” she whispered.

She pulled back the covers on the smooth side of the bed-- _his_ side, he realized. She was still sleeping on the right side of the bed as though they were sharing it. Whenever they’d been apart, it had become his habit to lie down on her half of the bed, imagining he could still detect her scent in the sheets. Sometimes he would even hold a pillow against his chest and pretend it was Belle. It was foolishness, but it helped him make it through the long, lonely hours of the night alone.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, soft but insistent, and she pressed him down on the bed. “Belle, what are you doing?” His voice sounded loud in the still, cool room. From the cradle, Gideon whiffled in his sleep.

“Shhh,” she said, pushing him onto his back and combing his hair off his face with his fingers. Her touch felt amazing and he closed his eyes with a blissful sigh, mesmerized by the warmth of her fingers against his skin. She crawled into bed next to him and pulled the blankets over them both. “Stay here with me? I know you say you don’t need the rest, but you’ve been working so hard doing everything for Gideon and me.”

“Alright,” he conceded, but he lay on his back with his eyes open, as rigid as a statue. She switched off the bedside lamp and he stared into the blackness, trying to catch his breath. The mattress was soft, the sheets warm from her body and luxurious, but he felt as though he was strapped to a gurney.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked. He felt the mattress move as she scooted closer.

Comfortable? He couldn’t even remember the meaning of the word. All he was aware of was Belle. Her scent, her warmth. Gods, he was half-dizzy with her closeness. “Ah, are you?” he countered.

“Yes.”

Something about her tone made him shiver. She slid one of her legs over his, her clammy feet tickling the hair on his calves. He bit back a groan. “Do you need another blanket?” he asked after a moment.

“No, thank you.”

She snuggled even closer until her breasts were pressed against his side. He could feel the dampness of her nightgown where her milk had wet the fabric and a tug of arousal pulled at his groin.

“An extra pillow? I could fetch one from the closet.” He sounded out of breath. Was it getting warmer in here? His heartbeat sped up and his lungs struggled to take in oxygen. “Maybe we should switch on the ceiling fan?”

Her laughter was muffled. “You just offered a blanket. I’m good. Let’s just relax and try to rest. Unless you want the fan on?” She wrapped her arms around one of his with a contented sigh, holding onto his forearm like a child might clutch a doll or a stuffed bear.

“Not if you don’t.” He was at a loss. Surely there was  _something_ he could do for her.

They lay in silence for a few minutes and he tried to relax, but each tick of the clock on the nightstand sounded like a hammer and the pillow behind his head felt like a boulder. “I’m supposed to take care of you,” he said desperately. “It’s my job.”

“Rumple, you’ve been wonderful. No one could take better care of Gideon and me than you have. But not everything is about me or our son. I asked you before and you didn’t answer. What do _you_ need?”

The tears came then, hot and urgent. 

“Rumple. My Rumple.” Belle guided him into her arms, urging him to rest his head against her chest.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders while he cried, great wracking sobs that shook his body and stole his breath. He didn’t know the source of this maelstrom of emotion, only that he was in perfect control one moment and sobbing like a babe the next.

“I need my wife.” He clutched at her waist, the words stuttering out in a jagged, tear-choked whisper. “I need my wife.”

“You have me, darling, you have me. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with you.” She cradled him in her arms, stroking his back and rocking him like she did Gideon and he shamelessly allowed it. He wept for the loss of Bae, his fears and failures, his poor treatment of Belle, who was still by his side no matter what he’d done.

All the while he clung to her and cried, she whispered reassurances, anchoring him in the shelter of her embrace. Soaking the top of her nightgown, he gobbled up her crooning words and healing touch until his heart resembled melted wax, his strength drained away with the tears that had left his body. Exhausted, he slumped against her breasts, calming himself with the steady beat of her heart under his ear.

Never in his life had he cried this way, not even after that enormous, green pit in the ground had swallowed Baelfire, taking him to another land, while he had clung to his precious knife and clawed for purchase in the dirt, too terrified of the unknown to follow his boy. Those tears had been building inside him for centuries, into a hard, cold mass of hurt, turning his heart into a wretched, brittle thing. At last, he had allowed himself to be broken.

“Belle.” He reached for her face and when he stroked her cheeks, he found them damp with her own tears. He didn’t know if she was crying with him or because of him, but he pressed his lips against hers in an urgent, seeking kiss, groaning as the salt of their tears mingled with the sweetness of her mouth. He poured all the love he felt for her into his kiss and she opened for him, accepting what he offered and returning it full measure.

“I didn’t bring you here just for Gideon,” he confessed hoarsely when he released her mouth, his breath ragged. “I wanted you here because I love you.”

She pressed her kiss-swollen lips together in a tremulous smile. “I didn’t ask to come here just for Gideon, either. I love you, too. Oh, Rumple, I’ve missed you so much. I’ve hated us being apart.”

“You have?” His surprise was genuine. “But I’ve been here with you every day. I haven’t used magic, I’ve been spending fewer hours at the shop...”

“And I appreciate all of it.” She lay down again, drawing his head down to her chest once more and began to stroke his hair. “But you’ve been keeping your distance from me. You think what I want is a caretaker, but you’re wrong. I want us to raise Gideon together—as a family. And no more separate bedrooms, okay? I need someone who’s going to appreciate my snoring and you can’t do that from across the hall.”

He snorted. “You do snore. Rather loudly.”

“What did you say?” She swatted him lightly with a pillow.

“I said as you wish.” Grinning, he lifted his head and rubbed his nose against hers, and they both laughed. He couldn’t remember when he had ever felt this light and happy. “Are you going to hog the covers, too, Mrs. Gold?”

“Always.” Her smug tone made him laugh again. “What about you?” She poked him in the ribs, softening the attack with another kiss. “Are you going to lie awake watching me sleep?”

“Every night,” he whispered, settling back against her breasts and wrapping his arms around her waist.

His eyes were already closing as she began to stroke his head again. And with her hands in his hair and the cadence of her heartbeat in his ears, Rumplestiltskin found sleep.

###

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking of turning If Tomorrow Never Comes, Sleeping Arrangements, and other fics into a 6B series focused on Rumbelle, Gideon, the Black Fairy, and others. Gideon would still be taken and Rumple and Belle would rescue him but in a different way. Is that of interest to you guys?


End file.
